


A Fleeting Sense of Motion

by Midnight_Run



Category: Code:Realize ～創世の姫君～ | Code: Realize - Guardian of Rebirth (Visual Novel)
Genre: Eventual Finis/Hansel Hexenhouse, Finis (Code: Realize)-centric, Gen, M/M, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Finis Route (Code: Realize), Rating May Change, Spoilers for Code: Realize - Future Blessings, Spoilers for Code: Realize - Guardian of Rebirth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Run/pseuds/Midnight_Run
Summary: In which Finis attempts to make a life and finds that attempt fraught with irritants.





	A Fleeting Sense of Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Look, the Finis route is the best route and no one shall ever convince me otherwise. I also have many feelings about Finis and Hansel. And have written many, many words about it and shall write many, many more before I'm done.

_“The summer sun was not meant for boys like me. Boys like me belonged to the rain.”_  
― Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

**+++**

It was a warm summer morning in the middle of August and Finis Beckford was about the business of murder.

Ruthless, unrepentant murder.

The air was sticky and damp as he stood in the garden glaring at the frail, withered body before him and the evidence of the dozen blows he'd leveled against it already as he lifted the ax to deliver another. 

Finis, who had taken the surname Beckford only at his sister’s insistence and was still rather uncomfortable with it, had killed thousands of people in short life.

A nameless, faceless many far beyond his desire or ability to recollect.

He had served as the director of a covert organization, overthrown governments, assassinated monarchs, brought entire countries to heel.

He had done horrifying things in the name of queen and country and for the sake of his-upon reflection-really quite horrible father whose approval he’d longed for and never received.

He was nothing close to human as, even if he did eat and sweat and stink as they did, he was still a monster through and through.

Though, perhaps, a different sort of monster than he'd begun as.

Certainly a more mortal one, at any rate.

Still, he refused to believe he'd sunk so low as to find himself outmatched by the diseased tree that had been failing spectacularly in their back garden for the better part of a season.

But, even he had to admit, it was beginning to seem fairly likely that his body would give out before the tree did.

He was absolutely drenched in sweat despite having removed his jacket and shirt and having rolled up his trousers before beginning his work. He could feel the prickling discomfort of a burn etched into his skin by the sun's unforgiving malice and his muscles were trembling with the ache of overexertion and he'd—through sheer bloody-minded stubbornness—managed to chop his way halfway through the trunk and yet the damnable thing still refused to concede.

He'd dealt it blow after blow and still it stood, as if mocking his efforts.

It was _infuriating_.

If he'd still been the creature he'd been before, before Cardia and before his fall from the Nautilus and before all that had happened since, he'd have simply put this body out of its misery and moved on to another and given it another go.

But he _couldn't_. 

And it was... _awful_.

And to make matters worse, any moment his sister would return home with her obnoxious friends and she’d chide him—softly and kindly, blissfully unaware of how every word bruised the tattered remnants of his fragile pride—for not waiting till they were there to lend their aid to the task.

As if he were so delicate a creature he needed _their_ help to fell a _tree_.

And the worst part would be that she would be _right_.

Which was absurd.

It was just a tree!

And half-rotten at that!

And yet there it remained, knobby and stunted and grotesque, unmoved by all his efforts to bring it down.

And here he stood, panting, aching, utterly exhausted and wishing with every fiber of his being that he had never even bothered to pick up the bloody ax in the first place.

It shouldn't have been that difficult to take care of such an incredibly mundane task on his own.

And yet.

And _yet_.

Despite the effort of hours and a freshly sharpened ax, the damned thing still refused to just fall down and die like it was meant to and the idea of being caught out having failed in his attempt to murder it was as  _mortifying_ as it was inevitable.

“You’re doing it wrong,” a voice commented, soft and far too close for comfort and he was swinging the ax round at the offender’s head before he could think better of it, a strangled shout on his lips.

Not _again_.

If there was one thing he hated more than the permanence of his body it was _this_.

He was sick to death of this place and its trees and the local clergy's propensity for whipping up the well-meaning, god-fearing ignorant townsfolk into a lather and putting the foolish idea in their heads about doing away with the monsters who lived in the forest.He’d been carried off five times since they’d moved out here and like hell he was going to let it become an even half-dozen. Lupin and his lot were quite insufferable enough as it was, without getting to rescue him from the town pyre yet again.

If he were to be caught again he privately hoped they'd manage to set him ablaze before anyone even noticed he was gone.

Better that than another lecture from his well-meaning sister about how he really must thank people when they rescue him from mortal peril.

Unfortunately, this time it wasn't someone come to drag him off to a pyre in the town square.

It was something far worse.

He grimaced as the boy behind him dodged the unplanned blow with the ease of several lifetimes of practice, leaning back just far enough that the passage of the blade merely stirred his ridiculous curly hair, leaving him unharmed and unperturbed as if people swung axes at his head every day which, to be honest, was a fairly realistic possibility.

Hansel Hexenhouse was the sort of person who inspired violence upon his person merely by showing up.

He'd have rather faced the pyre, honestly.

“What are _you_ doing here? You’re lucky I didn't take your fool head off,” he snarled, his heart stillin his throat.

“Do you think you could have?” Hansel asked thoughtfully, as he rocked forward to lean against that giant fork that was his constant companion once more.

If there was one thing he hated more than the fragility of his body or villagers on the march it was Hansel and his insistence upon turning up like a bad penny at random intervals like a warden come to oversee their progress.

As if they were prisoners in need of  _oversight_.

“If I’d had to, I'm certain I could have managed it. Wouldn't be the first time I’d managed to deal you a blow that should have been mortal.”

“Fair,” Hansel replied, smiling his soft, ridiculous smile.

He hated that smile.

It was so…. unaccountably _fond_.

He leaned so heavily upon the fork in his arms it was rather astonishing he didn't simply fall over. “You smell of sweat and exhaustion, fear and frosting, cinnamon and frustration.”

“Charming. As you can see, I am busy, so feel free to go back the way you came.”

He long since stopped trying to figure out where Hansel came from or how he came to be in his yard or his house. He'd made the mistake of asking once and gotten some nonsense about forest paths and the smell of something or other and it was infuriating.

“How is your sister faring?” Hansel replied, ignoring his less than subtle attempt to send him on his way.

“Fine. You've poor timing, as usual, she's out with Lupin and his lot just now. So, if you're thinking she might return and feed you, you're out of luck. I have no intention of offering our hospitality to an unwanted guest. Feel free to leave.”

Hansel’s smile turned sly, “You know, if you were to offer me something sweet in exchange, I might be willing to advise you in your task.”

“Oh? Are you suddenly an expert on trees? I can not imagine there are many trees plotting to overthrow the world order.”

“You might be surprised,” Hansel replied and something about the way he said it gave him pause. “And though I am hardly an expert, I was a woodcutter’s son.”

“And my father was a brilliant scientist, but I doubt that makes me a particularly adept at the subject.”

“Do you wish my help or no?”

“Fine, tell me how to kill the bloody thing and I’ll give you a few biscuits for your trouble. My sister just made a batch this morning.”

“You have to deal it blows from the other side as well if you wish to fell it properly. It makes the work a much simpler task.

“I doubt it,” Finis grunted, but he hadn't any better ideas so he took a swing at the as yet unmarred side of the tree’s trunk. The ax bit into the wood, the impact jarring painfully up his already aching arms.

“Would you like me to do it for you?” Hansel asked, leaning against his fork and watching with keen, inexplicable interest.

“No,” he snapped immediately, before he could be tempted by the notion. “I am perfectly capable of doing this on my own. What are you doing _here_ this time? Did my sister invite you?”

It sounded like something she might do. She was entirely too kindhearted for her own good and never seemed to mind when people popped in for no good reason as if over half their impromptu visitors hadn't once or weren't currently attempting to do them in.

“No, I was simply in the area.”

“Oh?” he grumbled, bringing the ax to bear against the trunk once more. “How _thoughtful_. Certain you haven't finally come to finish the job you started on the Nautilus?”

“It seems quite nice here,” Hansel remarked, ignoring his query.

“Typically,” Finis replied, striking out at the tree once again and again as he spoke, trembling muscles protesting each new blow. “When the townsfolk aren't getting ideas about who might be to blame for their latest troubles with home and harvest, it's generally quite peaceful. Rather noisy today though.”

“You should move,” Hansel commented, in the same drawling, lazy tones with which he said everything, the sound of his words almost drowned out by a tremendous crack and a great whooshing sound.

Cool fingers closed tight around his upper arm and he was jerked backwards as the tree tumbled down into the place where he'd been a moment before, its falling limbs scrapping against his bare chest as they crashed to the ground before him.

He loosed a shaky breath as he stared at the fallen tree and the jagged, broken stump it had left behind.

“Well done,” Hansel murmured, the touch of his hand lingering for a brief moment before he drew away.

“Yes,” he replied instead of the thanks he probably should have offered, heart still racing from the near miss. “You might have warned me earlier.”

“I might have, yes,” Hansel replied, thoughtfully. “Or I might not have warned you at all.”

“Well, if you're expecting me to thank you for bothering you might as well put the idea out of your head. It's obvious enough you only did it so I would be alive to make good on my promise to feed you.”

Hansel smiled at him, leaning heavily against his fork, “Oh, yes, you promised me biscuits, didn't you?”

“You're ridiculous. Come on then,” Finis sighed, unaccountably annoyed as he snagged his shirt from where he'd laid it upon the shrubbery earlier and shrugging into it, doing up the buttons as they walked together across the yard. “The sooner you’ve been fed the sooner you’ll be on your way.”

The biscuits Cardia had made that morning were still sitting neatly on their plate in the kitchen when they arrive and Finis rinses his hands in the sink before gesturing to the plate, “Go ahead, have as many as you like.”

Hansel peers down at the plate for so long he's almost certain he isn't going to choose one at all, before finally selecting one of the iced monstrosities nearest the side of the plate.

Finis can't help smiling as his uninvited guest takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

“These,” Hansel comments after he’s chewed and swallowed his first bite, “are awful.”

“They are, aren't they?” Finis replied, clamoring awkwardly up to sit on the counter so he could stare down at Hansel. His arms felt like they might give out and he had to use the stool they kept in the kitchen, but he managed it. Though from the way Hansel was devoting all his attention to his biscuit, it hardly seemed worth the effort in the end, though it did make it easier to snatch up one of his sister's misshapen monstrosities and pop it in his mouth. 

Even when she managed to get the shape right, there was always something off in the flavor. 

This time they were too salty.

Hansel took a second bite of his biscuit continuing to chew at the same slow, thoughtful pace, "They're interesting though."

He liked him better for it.

“There's something off with her sense of taste," he found himself offering, though he hadn't the least idea why. "I imagine it's some lingering aftereffect left behind by the poison. I should probably tell her at some point, but I... _what_? _Why_ are you looking at me that way?” 

“You are a good brother,” Hansel murmured, smiling dreamily as he shoved the remains of the salty biscuit into his mouth and chose another from the plate.

He could feel heat rising into his cheeks unbidden. 

If he thought it wouldn't just result in a mess he'd have to clear up, he'd have pulled a knife from the drawer and stabbed him just to wipe that ridiculous smile off his face.

“Shut up,” he snapped, sliding down from the counter, scowling. “That means absolutely nothing coming from you.”

“Yes, I can well imagine,” Hansel replied, still smiling, as he bit into his next biscuit. 

That smile was doing terrible things to his digestive tract.

It had to be stopped.  
  
“You’ve had your biscuits, I assume you’ll wish to be on your way now."

"Might I take a few for later? The road is long and winding come evening and it will be some time before I find my way to Mother's house."

He was vaguely horrified to find himself somewhat touched by the request.

Feelings were terrible and he wished he'd never begun acknowledging them at all.

"Take as many as you like, I'm sure Cardia will be thrilled to know you enjoyed them." 

Some how the words came out far more sincere than he'd intended them to.

"Yes, they were very interesting. Please tell her so."

As he led the way back towards the kitchen door and the yard beyond, he sees Hansel take a few more biscuits from the plate, tucking them carefully away in a pouch at his waist as if he truly meant to eat them later.

Hansel Hexenhouse was easily the most utterly absurd person he'd ever met.

“Are you quite certain you don't require assistance breaking up that tree?” 

The sudden offer made him wish he had stabbed him after all.

“No, I do not require assistance," he snapped, throwing the door open and stomping out onto the back steps. "Besides I doubt I could afford your rates when it comes to actual labor. I haven't immortality to offer and from what I've gleaned from Saint-Germaine I believe that's the going rate for your services, is it not?” 

“You asked about me?”

Finis inhaled sharply, whirling back to face him, thoughtlessly, his inattention throwing him off-balance and sending him tripping over his own feet on the stairs.

He hadn't realized Hansel was so close at his heels, until the vile man’s hand caught at his elbow to steady him.

His hand was cool even through the linen of his shirt sleeve.

“Hardly,” he scoffed, forcing himself to breathe past the sudden lump his fear in his throat.

_Careless._

Again.

He could ill afford such carelessness.

It was a difficult habit to break.

One body.

One life.

He jerked free of Hansel's grasp and stomped out into the yard, winding his arms tight over the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, “My sister inquired, I merely happened to overhear.”

“Ah, I see," Hansel murmured, his voice so soft he almost lost his next woods beneath the crunch of their boots against the dirt. "If you did wish to know about it, I wouldn't be adverse to telling you.”

“I have no desire to know anything about you, Hexenhouse," he answered quickly, perhaps too quickly given the hint of a smile that still haunts Hansel's lips when he chances a glance back at him.

“Hm, I can not say the same, but I fear I have worn out my welcome so that might be a question for another day. Thank you again for the treats.”

Before he could summon a suitable reply, he found himself alone in the garden once more with only the lingering holes Hansel's great stupid fork had dug in the dirt and the lingering corpse of the fallen tree as proof that anyone had been there at all.

He spent the rest of the afternoon breaking the corpse of the tree into pieces and determinedly not thinking about anything at all.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is going to be an ongoing series of short stories and thus both complete and incomplete as each story should be pretty well self-contained while building on the last. Mainly this whole thing was inspired in part by the idea proposed by the epilogue to Finis' route that Hansel just pops by to look in on them from time to time. Some things I write for nothing more than my own amusement, clearly, and random explorations of Finis and Hansel and immortality and existential angst are on the list. You can catch me over on tumblr if you're into that sort of thing at [midnight-run-amok.tumblr.com](http://midnight-run-amok.tumblr.com). Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
